Jeeves Gets the Day Off
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: When Jeeves comes down with the flu, it's up to Bertie to take charge of the household.


I awoke to the sun shining, the birds chirping, and the whole world waiting for Bertram Wooster to toddle out and absorb the good creation. I let out a yawn and stretched the old limbs. As a rule, a Wooster cannot hit on all sixes until he's had his daily cuppa, so the world would have to wait. I reached out a hand to the table where Jeeves placed my morning tea.

I let out a sound that very closely resembled a dying moose, but I suppose Jeeves would know if that was the bally animal. But even dying mooses get upset when they wake up to find that their valet mooses were remiss in bringing them their tea. And such was the case-my table was lacking every bit of tea-like goings on.

This would not do. A master must assert his right to get a cup of the old noodle juice in the morning and not have his valet fooling about dusting the curtains or whatever he does in the early hours. It was a rummy business, all this, and I decided to dash off and remind the man of his duties. But Jeeves was not in the sitting room, dusting the blasted curtains. I couldn't really imagine why one would dust curtains, but there you have it. He wasn't in the kitchen, his usual lair, nor was he shimmering about in the hallway. For good measure, I checked under the sofa. _Pas de _Jeeves. This was all getting a bit thick.

"This is all getting a bit thick," I said aloud, but suddenly remembered that Jeeves wasn't around to nod the old head in approval. Dash it all, the man wasn't even around to agree with me.

But then the scales fell from my eyes and I saw all. The man was still asleep, probably dreaming of those vast fields of daisies under the English country sun, or whatever it is that valets dream about. I don't much like daisies, though some people named Bassett seem to think of them as having to do with stars. Something about those celestial balls of fire being God's daisy chain. I hoped Jeeves wasn't dreaming about daisy chains-I would not have some infernal flower be the reason for not getting my tea. There was only one place left to go, so I tottered up to his door and laid a few good knocks on it.

"Jeeves!" I called out, putting another k. on the d. When no answer came forth, I turned the brass knob and inched into the room. "Jeeves, as much as I hate to disturb your dreams about daisy fields and whatnot, there's no-"

I heard a series of sniffles coming from the far end of the room, and so I blew in to investigate. The sleeping Jeeves had buried himself beneath a pile of pillows, but he resurfaced as I came to a halt by the bed.

The jaw hit the floor. "Good Lord, Jeeves! You look awful!"

"Yeth, thir."

"That must have been a horrible dream you had there, Jeeves. Daisy chains are the things of nightmares-"

"Thir?"

"Daisy chains, Jeeves."

"Vewy good, thir."

"You sound like a frog, Jeeves."

"Yeth, thir."

"A frog with a lisp."

"Yeth, thir."

And then the proverbial sun broke through the proverbial clouds, and I proverbially saw all. "Good heavens, Jeeves! Are you sick?"

"Ah thall be beddah diwectly, thir."

"Oh, rather not. You have the day off, Jeeves."

"Thank you vewy muth, thir."

"Anything I can do? Call a doctor?"

He was inching himself under the pillows again. "No, thir."

"Why, Jeeves! You must be cold!"

"Only a liddle, thir."

"Never fear, Jeeves. I have the solution at hand. Where do we keep the blankets?"

He said something followed by "thir", which proved to be most enlightening.

"Really, Jeeves, you're going to suffocate under all those bally pillows," I chided as I popped off in search of the quilts. I found some stacked neatly in the spare room closet and shimmered back with them. Shimmering into a room is harder than it looks, you know, especially under a mountain of blankets. I shimmered into the side of the door, a small table, and the footboard of the bed, but I jolly well did it. Jeeves would have been proud of me if he had stopped building that blasted pillow castle on top of himself. I dumped the blankets onto the bed and began spreading them out.

"Thatth eegh thooo mennhhee blanthefs, thhrrff."

"What's that, Jeeves?"

He slowly pushed off the pillows. "Too meddy blankeths, thir."

"Are six blankets too many?"

"Yeth, thir."

"Right ho."

I balled up four and tossed them onto a nearby chair. It occurred to the old bean not to fold them in case the invalid pointed out that I did the thing all wrong. No use in distressing the man.

"Stop glaring at that chair, Jeeves."

"Thir?"

"I will not fold those blasted blankets."

"Vewy good, thir."

"You know, Jeeves, there's nothing like a good hot cuppa to clear the old schnozzle and restore the senses, what? I'm sure I could bring a brew up."

"Well, thir-"

"Don't 'well, thir' me, Jeeves. I know that tone. I can make a good cup of tea as good as any old English bird."

"Well, thir-"

"Jeeves!"

"My apologeeth, thir."

And so I sallied forth to the kitchen and after much trial and tribulation succeeded in brewing that elixir of life and brought the stuff back to Jeeves. He had managed to sit up, but eyed the cup dubiously when I handed it to him.

"Tell me, Jeeves, is it possible to burn tea?"

His eyes widened a fraction of an inch. "_Burn_, thir?"

"I'm afraid I scorched the dickens out of your tea."

"Surely that ith not pothible, thir."

"I almost caught the kitchen on fire."

"Moth dithurbing, thir."

"I am sorry, Jeeves."

"Thir?"

"Your favorite apron. It went up in flames."

A pained look crossed the man's map, but I tried to make him look at the sunny side of the thing. "We shall give it a proper burial."

"Thank you, thir."

"With a eulogy and daisies, blast the things."

"Thank you vewy muth, thir." He made a gallant effort to drink the life liquid.

I frowned. "Jeeves, you're sputtering."

"Ye…yeth, thir."

"Hot tea, what?"

His eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. "Most…invigorating, thir."

"Right. How about some lunch then? I'll just whip something up in two shakes and put another kettle on the stove. Something with fish in it, eh?"

I had never seen the man look so near to horror at the thought of a bit of meal and tea. I folded my arms. "Jeeves, you don't have to prepare anything. We Woosters are naturals in the kitchen."

"Thir?"

"Do you doubt my cooking prowess, Jeeves?"

"Well, thir-"

"_Jeeves.._"

"No, thir."

"Not hungry, what?"

"Not at the prethent moment, thir."

"Right ho, then. Rest up, Jeeves. I'm off to dust the curtains." And I jolly well did it too. Rummy thing, housecleaning. It makes a fellow wonder why he has curtains in the first place, or furniture, for that matter. Seems a chappie can do frightful well just living in a box. When I returned later to do the old check up, Jeeves was dreaming away.

"What ho, Jeeves!" I shouted cheerily, placing a glass of water on the bedside table. "Feeling any better?"

Jeeves blinked and stared about for a mom. before catching sight of the good drink.

"Jeeves, don't drink so dashed fast. If you wanted water, why didn't you say so?"

He didn't answer, but drained the g. of w. in a flash before burying himself beneath the covers once more. Now, I know a sick chappie is not generally up to whirling about the social circles and whatnot, but this was a bit thick. Perhaps he needed something else. I strained the old bean for ideas and one finally knocked me on the old topper. I shimmied from the room and came back with the essential goods.

"Jeeves, it has come to my attention that you need to make the acquaintance of Lord Wiggins."

There was a faint groan from beneath the covers, which I took to be a statement of agreement. I poked the blankets and waited, then put in a few extra pokes for good measure. Jeeves presently popped his head out and threw a dull glance in my direction. "Lord Wigginth, thir?"

"He's my teddy bear, Jeeves."

He blinked. "Your teddeh bear, thir?"

"Stop repeating what I say, Jeeves. You are not a parrot. Now," I said as I shoved the bear into his arms and tucked it in, "Lord Wiggins is pleased to meet you. He is a specialist in curing sickness, you know, ever since I was a lad. He—what are you staring at, Jeeves?"

"Lord Wigginth has a green tie and a purple thirt, thir."

"Blast it, Jeeves. Don't you go criticizing my teddy bear's fashion."

"Vewy good, thir."

"Right. Now, I am now going to read you and Lord Wiggins a bit of a story before naptime."

He sighed. "Thtory, thir?"

"Just some _Tractatus de Intellectus Emendatione_, by this chappie Spinoza."

Jeeves stared for a moment and his mouth twitched into the very slightest of smiles. "Thank you vewy muth, thir."

"Certainly, Jeeves." I opened the massive volume and began reading. "'After experience had taught me that all the usual surroundings of social life are vain and futile; seeing that none of the objects my fears contained in themselves anything either good or bad, except in so far as the mind is affected by them, I finally—'…put Lord Wiggins's tie back on, Jeeves."

"Vewy good, thir."


End file.
